


Enchantment in the undergrowth, magic in the roots.

by electricteatime



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Gen, M/M, Magic Stiles, not quite relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricteatime/pseuds/electricteatime
Summary: Stiles has magic, but so do the rival pack. It seems like he never has enough when he needs it.
Written as a gift for so-many-arrows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! I stalked your blog for quite some time trying to get a feel for what you like, I hope this works and you enjoy it :)
> 
> When I started writing this I got up to around 15,000 words. I had to stop and cut it down to something more manageable so if it feels a little disjointed I'm really sorry but I made it work as a stand alone the best I could. I might post the longer, fuller version if I ever get round to finishing it up and if I do I'll tag you in it. I hope this is okay! (Title is from The Cure is in the Forest)

Running through the woods is overrated. Stiles can’t count the times he’s seen it done in films; the sun filtering down through the trees, two people running at what’s really more of a slow jog, all smiley and laughing and in the case of one unmentionable film about vampires he’s certainly never seen, _sparkling_. The reality is not like that at all.

The reality is sweat, it’s lungs burning fit to burst, it’s taking a branch or twenty to the face because you don’t have the supernatural senses that tell you to get out of the way before they hit you. The reality is slipping on wet leaves, it’s stumbling over logs, it’s hoping to god you’re going the right way because you don’t have time to get lost - might not have any time at all with the way things seem to be going. For him at least the reality is reaching out as far as he can and hoping more than anything that someone reaches back to guide him.

He can cast the net of his magic wide now after all these years of training, sending out every signal he can think of to let them know he’s here, he’s coming if they would only tell him where to go. Derek howls, and he feels it like a tug in his chest, changing course to follow the pull and maybe he can’t run as fast as they can but it’s faster than he’s ever been in his life and he thinks that has to count for something. He’d felt it as soon as someone had stepped foot into the territory, the wards he’d put into the ground lighting up in warning where they were inked into his skin and he’d been running even as he fired off a message to Scott. He’s always ready for a fight these days.

The rest of the pack have latched on as well and the pull is strong enough to guide him without even having to think about it. He pushes himself harder because it’s not far now, not far at all and it’s only a few seconds later when he’s bursting straight into the clearing where they’re fighting, losing, barely managing to take a breath before calling out.

“STOP!”

His voice shakes the trees and it’s enough of a shock to do just that. Everyone freezes in place, including his own pack which he’s going to talk to them about later because that is the least tactically advantageous thing they could have done. There’s a moment of silence, but it doesn’t take more than a second for one of the other wolves to move, bringing her claws slashing down in a move clearly intended to be deadly. The movement of his hands is instinctual, blasting her back, palm outstretched as she slams into the nearest tree. He hadn’t been fast enough though, not before she’d caught Derek in the chest, and after they’ve done this so many times before Derek still has the audacity to look shocked.

Stiles has seen Derek fight through a lot, he’s fairly sure he’s seen the man’s insides more times than he’s seen him shirtless which really is saying something, but this? This is wrong. A blow like that shouldn’t have managed to take him out, not with Stiles having thrown her before she could land a proper hit but Derek falls to his knees anyway, and when he opens his mouth to ask what happened the only thing that comes out is blood.

“What the fuck?” he’s on the ground next to him before he even thinks about it, catching him when he sways dangerously and pressing a hand to his chest. “Fuck, okay. Not good. So very not good. Do you know what happened?” he presses down harder, wincing when it makes Derek cry out and pouring his magic into the wound, searching.

“There was magic,” Derek sounds drunk, or at least that’s what he tells himself as he concentrates more on trying to find what the hell that was, tuning out the sounds of the fight carrying on around them.

“Wolves can’t have magic, that’s impossible” Derek manages to roll his eyes and it makes him feel marginally better about the whole situation, like he can’t be that bad if he can still roll his eyes at him. Like his pack isn’t fighting a losing battle against another, one determined to stop at nothing to rip the territory from them by force.

“Not her. On her. I could smell it,” any relief he’d felt at the eyerolling disappeared when he coughs up more blood. Stiles wonders just how much he can actually lose before they can’t fix it.

“Hey, Derek, hey c’mon,” it doesn’t mean anything, he’s just talking to reassure himself as he desperately searches out what it is that’s stopping him from healing. The rest of them are still fighting but he doesn’t have time for that right now, they can hold their own for a little while longer if they have to. “Tell me about it? Anything stand out?”

Derek shakes his head, no. “It was strong,” Stiles is trying so hard not to panic at the lack of strength in his voice, closing his eyes against the wave that threatens to overwhelm him because he doesn’t know if he can fix this. There’s blood all over him and Scott cries out from across the clearing, like he can feel that something is terribly wrong. Stiles can feel where the marks on his arms are starting to fade out with every hit his friends take. He’s not strong enough to help them and keep Derek alive, and he’s too terrified to pull his magic from him when he doesn’t know if that’s all that’s stopping him from slipping under. His pack is dying, his _friends_ are dying and he makes a decision before he even really thinks about it. There’s magic here too, in the trees. Deaton had warned him about it, fickle but strong, ancient and even if he isn’t strong enough to use it he’s going to try. They aren’t losing anyone else.

Scott calls out his name in a panic, he doesn’t know if it’s because of Derek or something else but he has to do something and he has to do it now or it’s likely they won’t walk away from this. He centres himself, palms down flat on the earth and reaches out, imagining the forest reaching back. If he can picture it he can make it happen, it was the first thing he’d learned about magic and he’s putting that learning to good use now, tapping into the forest like plugging into the mains. The raw power of it makes him shiver. It’s strong, and he draws on it as much as he can, careful not to take more than it is willing to give because he’s fairly sure he could go mad with it if he took too much. He’d been warned against trusting it, forests don’t have morals and they’ll kill as soon as heal if they don’t like what they find. But the pack has sworn to protect the land, and he’s sworn to protect them so he calls on it now for its own sake as much as theirs.

He draws in the power until he can’t think past the buzzing of it in his head, until he can feel every rune and mark all over his body light up with it. When it’s sparking past his fingertips in the way his own stopped doing once he’d learned to control it and as soon as he feels like he can’t take it anymore he lets go, one hand planted on Derek’s chest and the other buried into the forest floor.

The earth shakes around them, and he spares a moment to wonder if he’s gone too far but if he has there isn’t chance to fix it, it’s already done. He just hopes his decision wasn’t the wrong one before he passes out.

*

He wakes up with a headache, face pressed into moss and groaning as he rolls over to face the sky. It takes him a moment to work out where he is, but then he’s scrambling up to sitting, a gentle hand placed on his shoulder to steady him as he does.

“Easy,” it’s Scott, and he slumps down a little, reassured by his presence.

“What happened?” he asks, mouth dry and pressing his hand to his head. His hands are covered in blood. “Derek. Where’s Derek?” the panic is back, frantic again because Scott is fine but Derek isn’t and he can’t see him because Scott won’t let him up and-

“I’m here, I’m fine.” He’s a mess, is what he is; covered in blood, wounds still stitching themselves together on his chest and really, there’s no saving that shirt. “Everyone’s fine,” he assures him as Stiles pulls himself up to stand, shaky. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Stiles laughs, equal parts disbelief and relief at the reprimand, because Derek is alive. Safe. He thinks better of reaching out to touch him. “I wasn’t the one bleeding out on the floor when I should have been healing,” he tells him, wondering if Derek had any idea how terrifying that had actually been.

“No. But you were the one who decided to turn himself into a bomb and then pass out for half an hour,” he sounds serious, and Stiles rubs a nervous hand over the back of his neck, looking around at the damage around them. He’d only really meant to knock them out, or make them run away, but it’s very clear now that isn’t what happened. It takes him a moment to work out that the small mounds covered in vines are people. Bodies. He takes a shaky step back as he counts them.

“Hey,” Derek steps into his line of vision, stopping him from staring at what he’d done. Seven. Seven people that the forest was burying for him.  
“I didn’t mean – that wasn’t-” he doesn’t have the words to justify it because he hadn’t wanted to kill them, had never wanted to use his magic for that but if it kept them safe he can’t regret it, no matter how much guilt twists at his stomach. His hands are shaking when Derek cups his jaw, concern clear on his face as he tilts his head back until their eyes meet.

“You didn’t,” it’s firm, like a fact and Derek must see the doubt in him because he carries on. “You didn’t. The forest did. You just asked for help, and it helped. Deaton said it was dangerous, and what it decided to do isn’t on you because you were just protecting us, like you promised. They were using magic too; it would have killed all of us if you hadn’t stopped it. You know they wouldn’t have stopped. ”

His voice is gentle and honest and whatever protests he had die out before he manages to voice them. Instead he just nods, the most he’s going to agree for now and Derek smiles, eyes flickering upwards.

“I think the forest likes you,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Stiles’ hair. A handful of tiny purple flowers rain down out of it and Derek catches one by the stem, holding it out to him. “For saving my life. Again.”

“I think technically this is a gift from the woods,” he runs his fingers through his hair trying to get them all out. “But you’re welcome. I’ll let you know if I start growing flowers in other places.” He’s going to have to talk to Deaton about what he did, there’s likely going to be some kind of consequence but if all it takes to keep them safe is becoming a walking flowerbed he thinks he can deal with that.

“Come on,” he can hear the amusement in Derek’s voice as he holds his hand out to him, “I think we all need some rest.” Stiles can only stare a moment before he takes it, biting down a smile when the triskelion on his chest lights up warm and happy.

“And a shower?” he tests, voice suggestive as he squeezes his hand a little. Derek snorts but he pulls him in slightly so Stiles takes it as a win.

“Maybe,” Derek smiles fondly, “if you’re lucky.”


End file.
